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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. J: 







[SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT.] ^ 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.^ 



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Jf^^X^G.f.^'k^ M^ ^^^-^''■^ 




THE (}OLT)EN CALF 




C|e lilmigljtj gnlhr 



A SATIRE, 



BY J. HUNT ST R OTHER 



"And the Lord said unto Moses, Go, get thee down ; for thy people, which 
thou broughtest out of the land of Egypt, have corrupted themselves : they 
have made them a molten calf, and have worshipped it, and have sacrificed 
thereunto." 

Exodus, xxxii., 7, 8. 



Then forth from 'neath the altar's smoke, 
Issued a dreadful fiend." 



Spenser. 



^cu)-i3ork : 



^^^, 



PRINTED ET GEO. E. lEEEE, 
225 Fulton-Strekt. 

1854. 






-f^ 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, 

By J. Hunt Strother, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
Southern District of New- York. 



THE CtOLDEI calf : 



OR, 



[lE Ilinig[iti] lallur 



Freedom had fled from Earth with bitter tears, 
Finding no spot which she could claim as hers : — 
Now hail'd by men, with greetings of pure joy, 
And now rejected as a worthless toy, 
Now worshiped and rever'd by all mankind, 
Now torn from hearts where she was late enshrin'd. 
She saw that those, who by her care she'd bless 
With all things that insure man's happiness, 
Turn'd from her shrine of pure simphcity, 
Lur'd by the golden pomp of tyranny ; 
And gave up all most dear for man to own, 
To bend before a sceptre and a throne. 



Hopeless, she fled, in sad despondency, 

And wept to think man never would be free. 

But when a New World from the ocean rose, 

Among its wilds a rugged home she chose : 

On her bright mission coming yet once more, 

Beaming with hope, she lit upon our shore, 

Resolv'd to strive to build, across the sea, 

A lasting monument to Liberty, 

And show the world a truth of high intent — 

That men are equal to self-government. 

See the result— though but of recent birth. 

We stand among the greatest pow'rs of earth : 

From thirteen States despised, and weak, and poor. 

Our empire reaches, now, to either shore ; 

And as it, thus, with giant pow'r expands, 

The railroad hnks it with its iron bands, 

While fleets of steamboats throng our inland seas. 

And Commerce bends her sails to ev'ry breeze ; 

In the Far West, whole forests swept away, 

Cities arise where they stood yesterday. 

And Agriculture, with her fruitful hand. 

Sows plenty broadcast o'er our favor'd land ; 

While Education opens unto all 

The old log field-school, or the college hall. 



And now the Old World gazes in surprise, 
To mark our greatness, and our sudden rise ; 
And tyrants, and decay'd nobility, 
Fear that their serfs, who our example see. 
May turn upon the foot that's crush'd so long, 
And by one effort strike down hoary wrong. 



But — sad reflection — nations once w^ere free, 
As great, and far more powerful than we, 
Who now are fallen, most corrupt, and base. 
Degraded, and a stigma on their race ; 
Potent no more, except in what depraves, 
They move upon the earth as crawling slaves. 
See Rome, now impotent and fall'n, hurl'd 
From her proud place as Mistress of the World ; 
Gone all her pow'r, and gone her dauntless pride, 
And strength which, singly, all the world defied ; 
Gone her proud monuments, her temples gone. 
Her forum but a shapeless mass of stone ; 
Her navy gone, her boasted army is 
Replac'd by regiments of hireling Swiss ; 
Her name, that once could haughtiest monarchs tame, 
Become a by-word for disgrace and shame. 
1* 



Yet once the meanest of that grov'ling herd, 
The while a haughty pride his bosom stirr'd, 
Had stood defiant, e'en to kings, to claim 
That homaofe due unto a Roman's name. 



Then let us seek to trace th' unvarying cause 

Which rules all nations with unerring laws ; 

And, found, let us endeavor to avoid 

That one great vice by which they're all destroy'd. 

For all the experience of the past will teach. 

That else we their degraded state must reach. 

'Tis love of gold, the parent vice of all 

Those other vices which weak man enthrall ; 

For wealth, well used, by Providence design'd 

To make a nation glorious and refin'd, 

Is far too apt to ruin, and deprave, 

Degrade the good, and enervate the brave. 

The rich, indulging in each vile excess. 

Mistake debauchery for happiness. 

And by base revel, and the low debauch. 

Fan into flame their country's fun'ral torch. 

The poor, who thus their bad example view. 

Demoralized, forget the instincts true 



Of man to good, and, imitating them, 
Lose all the noble attributes of men, 
Till, plmig'd in an excess of luxury, 
Corruption, vice, and crime, at last we see 
The long-doom'd nation totter to its fall. 
And melancholy ruin whelming all. 

Thus it has ever been, will ever be, 
Like the fatal fruit of the dread lotos-tree, 
Which floats its vot'ries on delicious dreams, 
And pours enchanting thoughts, in plenteous streams 
Through the enraptured brain, and, for the time. 
Brings visions bright, and glorious, and subhme, 
But leads the man, through pleasures, most in- 
tense. 
Unto a dark and awful impotence. 

Shall we then make the golden calf divine, 
And place his statue in a holy shrine ? 
Shall we begin to bend to, and adore, 
An idol that is fatal evermore ? 
■ And shall we this religion drear adopt, 
That's ever found so false and so corrupt ? 
Sad truth we have— so pleasing are its rites, 
Bach day brings in new crowds of proselytes. 



The worship now begun — we'll place us nigh, 
And see each fervent neophyte pass by. 

Far be't from me to sneer at those whose place 

Would mark them as the teachers of their race, 

Who, if sincere, hke their great Master, should 

Go about ever seekinsr to do orood : 

Here to give comfort, there to chide, or warn 

The sinner's feet from paths that lead to harm ; 

To tend the sick, console some racking grief, 

Or lead the doubter on to firm belief; 

Thrice happy lot, to them also 't is given, 

To turn the thoughts of criminals to heav'n, 

Little by little to inculcate good. 

And lead these from a life of hardihood, 

To learn the error of their ways, and trust 

A God that's always merciful and just, 

While Faith's blest light upon their bosoms pours, 

And substitutes repentance for remorse. 

A life hke this is truly good and. pure, 

And, if sincere in't, none could wish for more ; 

And though, undoubtedly, some faiiMul few 

Al'e conscientious in whate'er they do. 

Yet many a clergyman, I'm much afraid. 

Adopts his calhng as he would a trade. 



And while he'd scorn to be a humble teacher, 

Strives to become a fashionable preacher ; 

As if he'd suffer beneath heaven's frown, 

Unless he held forth in a church up town. 

He tends no sick, he comforts no distress'd, 

He gives no aching bosom balmy rest, 

He never enters at a humble door. 

And ministers unto the suff'ring poor ; 

And if he would, how should he have the art, 

Lacking two things — sincerity and heart ? 

No, once a week, in drawling tones, he pours 

Upon a yawning audience a discourse. 

His tidy kids are daintily drawn on, 

And pure as innocence his spotless lawn. 

He waves his kerchief, edged with richest lace. 

And lengthens piously his rev'rend face. 

He speaks of angel choirs, — his thoughts are far 

Among the gems of last night's opera ; 

Of heav'nly joys, which no one values less, 

iVnd looks admiringly at each new dress ; 

Tells us of holy truths to which he's careless, 

And looks with venal eye upon some heiress ; 

And when the blessing's given, and he's through, 

Hastens to Smith's, to dine with a choice few ; 



10 

Or of petitions, mayhap, signs a score 

'Gainst slavery, which he thinks is a sore 

Blot on our nation, and against th' intent 

Of the Constitution ; but ne'er gives a cent 

To help a freedman, or to buy a slave. 

Oh no, he gives his all, the surpliced knave, 

In that cheap substitute for charity 

Which mock philanthropists call sympathy. 

In a few years he tires of the routine, 

And wishes, good man, for a change of scene, 

When, practising a sort of pious fraud, 

He gets bronchitis, and is sent abroad. 

Such men too oft — oh shame unto our kind ! — 

Among us, in this golden age, we find. 

They lead the way where all the others follow, 

And worship only the Almighty Dollar. 



Then after him behold the sage M. D., 

A weighty man in the community. 

He's your best friend, ador'd too by your wife, 

And ushers all your children into life. 

In sombre black he drives 'round in a gig, 

Takes snufF, chews rhubarb, and he wears a wig. 



11 

Whene'er a patient he is call'd to see, 

Oar Esculapius talks most learnedly ; 

A poultice he a cataplasm will call, 

Bleeding depletion, and, at times, lets fall 

A monster word like this one "diarrhetic,'' 

Which means the opposite to, an emetic. 

He hems, and haws, and asks your tongue to see, 

And then in Latin writes his recipe ; 

And when at fault, puts always "quantum suif.,'' 

Which in plain English only means enough. 

He's a philanthropist — a constant strife 

He wages 'gainst the various ills of life : 

When in his presence, hint but at a pain, 

And you w^ill try to 'scape his clutch in vain. 

He feels your pulse, then questions you quite close, 

Inspects your tongue, and orders you a dose ; 

And when, at last, you're really made unwell. 

He puts a muffle on your front-dOor bell, 

From your abode proscribes your dearest friends, 

And hired nurses of his own he sends. 

And, after things have gone awhile this way. 

He calls upon you four times ev'ry day ; 

Ne'er say " I'm better," and ne'er ask " why is it ?" 

The Doctor's always paid so much a visit. 



12 

You are, my friend — you'll pardon me, I beg — 
The goose who lays, for him, the golden egg, 
And he's not fool enough, like him of old, 
To put an end to that which brings him gold. 
Yet he, at length, when forc'd by decency, 
Permits you, first, a friend or two to see, 
Then lets you rise, a moment, from your bed. 
And to your window has you gently led ; 
And, when you've this a week or so endur'd, 
He then pronounces you completely cur'd. 
And sends you in — thank God the thing's no worse- 
A bill requiring a strong, healthy purse. 



Next comes a bustling, busy little man. 
Whose restless eyes seek ev'rything to scan. 
His pale, thin lips, wreath'd in a constant smile, 
Mark him a man of strategy and wile ; 
One who has not a sole redeeming trait. 
And whom all men should justly execrate : — 
He is a man expert in all that's evil, 
A Lawyer, and first cousin to the devil ; 
A great peace-maker, who, as it appears, 
Always pulls folks together by the ears ; 



13 

One who has done far niore in his hfe 
Towards keeping up fell rancor, and stern strife, 
Among the human family, than all 
Men of all other kinds since xA^dam's fall. 
He loves to see relations, dearest, learn 
To hate each other, let their bosoms burn 
With every passion that is base and ill. 
Striving, for gold, to break a parent's will. 
But most he loves to hunt out an old flaw. 
Which proves some title-deed not worth a straw ; 
Instant he seeks you, and says. Sir, this land 
Is yours, if you a little suit can stand ; 
Explains it all, and makes the thing quite clear. 
And you a very injur'd man appear. 
While he, one of that philanthropic brood 
Of hell's own hatching, seeks naught but your good. 
And if, by chance, you to a suit agree, 
Before you know it you're in Chancery, 
And, well in Chancery, the Lord knows when 
You'll live to get well out of it again ; 
Year after year the thing drags slowly on. 
Until at length 'tis over, and you've won ; 
And when, at last, you've gotten safely through't, 
He brings a bill in longer than the suit ; 

2 



14 

He never acts from feelings pure and kind, 

But like his goddess, Justice, is quite blind ; 

Holds out his hand, takes all that he can get. 

And counts all fish that come into his net. 

Expert in all th' expedients of fraud, 

He sets at naught, not man's laws, those of God 

No Christian motives prompt him e'er to lend 

His services the suff'ring to befriend. 

The wrong'd and cheated are to him as naught. 

Provided his opinion is not bought ; 

The w^eak may bend beneath oppression's heel, 

Gold is the only touch-stone he can feel : — 

Soulless, like corporations, he vv^ill act 

For either side, and with the nicest tact. 

And do the dirtiest things for a good fee, 

Provided he can do them legally. 



The next man, see, his face all thin with care, 
His brow^ is furrow'd, and all white his hair ; 
A merchant, with his coffers running o'er, 
Day by day striving to increase his store ; 
His ships, deep-laden, plunge through ev'ry sea, 
And wealth pours in upon him plenteously. 



15 



Yet, as he works assiduous for gain, 

Full many blots his flexile conscience stain. 

He holds to his word with scruple most intense, 

But wrongs at any time his moral sense ; 

His boasted honor is a show most hollow, 

Which he has sacrificed for many a dollar : 

When selling so low that he can but lose, 

He's gaining profits that would shock the Jews. 

His maxim is his store to increase. 

Seem honest, and the unsuspecting fleece ; 

If he e'er give a sum in charity, 

The thing is done for show, and publicly ; 

He gives it thus, because he feels quite sure 

That, in the end, he'll gain by it much more. 

As actors, now and then to make a hit. 

Perform for some asylum's benefit : — 

Among the congregation he appears, 

One of the calf's most ardent worshippers. 



He whom all eyes with such mark'd rev'rence follow. 
Is, so to speak, friend, an incarnate dollar ; 
A golden Mars, waging perpetual war 
In the stock market, as a bull or bear ; 



16 

Or haply owns a bank, not worth a fiddle, 

Deep in the bottom, or far in the middle 

Of some imaginary lake, with all 

Sorts of imaginary capital ; 

And when our broker a round sum has made, 

You find some day your friend the " wild cat's" dead, 

Or your " white pigeon" flown. A serious joke — 

Your broker and his fancy bank are broke, 

Or else he issues spurious bonds for stocks. 

Or, with a wire, picks his own strong box. 

Our quondam bull no more his horn'd head tosses, 

But then retires to live upon his losses, 

And takes his place (earn'd — oh most worthily — ) 

As high-priest of the gold divinity. 



Behold an editor — see what his tone, 
Who rules a reading public, like our own ; 
Who, as he works for good, or its reverse, 
Becomes a nation's blessing or its curse. 
What is his tone ? He changes hour by hour, 
Striving to gain the patronage of pow'r ; 
And tries to sway the public by his views, 
For his own good this moral force to use. 



17 

Hear him the course of factionists lamenting, 

Working, the while, to get the public printing ; 

See how, when foil'd in his selfish aims. 

His unbias'd sheet th' administration blames ; 

Like him who, outraged, shifted his position, 

When told he couldn't get a foreign mission. 

Yet they have pow'r ; they know it, and they use it — 

Unhappily, too often they abuse it ; 

This side or that they will denounce, or praise. 

According as the rival bidder pays. 

Theif country's good these patriots ne'er consider, 

They always write for him who's highest bidder: — 

They're like the rest — they worship that same gold, 

And can, at any time, be bought or sold. 



Time was when our fair country hail'd, with pride, 
The patriot band who rallied to her side ; 
No sordid motives their pure breasts imbued. 
Who thought of nothing but their country's good ; 
No dream of pay or place e'er cross'd their mind. 
But, rather, ease or wealth each one resign'd. 
And bravely fought, through times of deepest gloom; 

For ihose yet lying in the Future's womb. 

o* 



18 

Our rights attack'd — the dread alarm is giv'n, 
And echoed by the arching vault of heav'n ; 
Each infant colony takes up the cry, 
And stern men arm to conquer or to die ; 
Each noble patriot feels his cause is strong — 
'Tis mighty Right contending against Wrong. 
Well may each vein with strong emotion thrill, 
And honest pride our heaving bosoms fill, 
As we behold this firm devoted band 
Fight for the freedom of their native land. 
Now, campless, bivouacking cheerfully 
Among the noxious swamps of the Pedee ; 
And now, half-naked, leaving, as they go, 
Their bloody tracks on Valley-Forge's snow ; 
And when they've won proud Saratoga's field, 
And forc'd, at Yorktown, our stern foe to yield, 
Not yet their labors over, nor their care. 
The Senate calls them to new duties there ; 
And their great aim, throughout the long debate. 
To make the people prosperous and great. 
Far other now — the Patriots all are dead — 
We have the politicians in their stead : 
A brood of vultures, which around us rise. 
Ready to pounce upon each carrion prize. 



19 

These men are in the market, and the cry, 
"Patriots for plunder, come, who'll buy — who'll 

buy?" 
What care they for the country ? What care they 
For those whose votes they canvass'd yesterday ? 
Now for economy — it has a charm — 
Now vote each lazy vagabond a farm ; 
Now fillibusters, and all annexation, 
Now it would be destruction to the nation ; 
Now they swear ev'ry foreigner's a rogue, 
And now they "love the sound of the dear 

brogue ;" 
To-day Free-soilers, the next Union men. 
The next day for the woolly-heads again ; 
Now for the highest tariffs, now^ for small. 
For or against just anything at -all : — 
Vile demagogues, w^ho care not what they say, 
Or how they act, provided it will pay. 
Selfish, unprincipled, most vile and base. 
They'd barter off their souls for pay and place ; 
Shame they have none, and honor is a word 
They have forgotten ever to have heard. 
They worship naught but principle, we're told — 
Another name for our same calf of gold, u 



20 

Who that poor youth whose dress and mien proclaim 

One made his sex to burlesque and to shame ? 

But just eighteen, a man he apes to be, 

Though lacking all to make one worthily; 

Just heart enough to send blood through his veins, 

And tongue enough to show his want of brains, 

Man in his vices he can imitate, 

Not in one virtue that does palhate ; 

His day is spent round stables and 'mong grooms, 

Or swallowing brandy in low drinking-rooms ; 

At night he to some hell will staggering go. 

And lose his father's money at faro ; 

Or, in some fashionable brothel, mends 

His mind and morals 'mong his female friends. 

Nothing that's sensible for him — oh no — 

Our brainless man conceives that it's too " slow." 

If you e'er ask him how his time is past. 

He smiles, and tells you New- York's dev'lish fast ; 

Says he has been " out driving on the road," 

Or "in a rum-shop taking on a load ;" 

He sups at Claremont with a crowd to-night. 

Where doubtless they'll get beautifully "tight ;" 

Or mayhap he affects the old roue. 

And yawns and grumbles, and says he's blase ; 



21 

Has cut the theatres, and parties, too, 
And wishes he could get up something new. 
But our American taste is very low — 
And as for living — why, we don't know how. 
He thinks it's dev'hsh hard — what do you think ? 
He feels quite dry — suppose you take a drink. 
Look at him — yes, you justly may say faugh — 
He is that thing styled " Young America :" — 
A thing more apt to make you sigh than laugh — 
A beast begotten by the Golden Calf. 



Behold the two last draw up at the door — 
Each one, you see, arrived in coach and four. 
Tompkins and Smith, two of the upper-ten, 
Who're made by this calf- worship among men. 
For upper-tend om — I don't mean to shock it — 
Measures a man, friend, by his depth of pocket. 
Smith has a large palatial residence, 
Furnish'd and built regardless of expense. 
Enter and look — what man coirld wish for more ? 
There's nothing wanting money '11 buy, I'm sure. 
He has hois de rose, and huJd, s^nd- fjiai^quetrie. 
His carpets Auhusson tapisserie. 



22 

Ohjets de viHu priceless, rich, and rare. 
And our best sculptors' handiwork, are there ; 
And pictures, too — although it seems he aims. 
In them, at nothing but the richest frames ; 
Wheel'd vehicles of all sorts 'neath the sun — 
Berline, caleche, coupe, and phaeton ; 
His horses are the finest that you'll see, 
His servants wear the richest livery : 
In fine, he's of the ton^ — the most elite 
Society at Smith's grand balls you meet. 
And who is Smith ? To see him, you'd declare 
His condescending smile and haughty air 
Stamp him a snob — one of the newly great, 
Who gain'd his station after his estate : — 
Pretension, egotism, and conceit. 
Give you our hero's character complete. 
Smith was, as all his fellow-townsmen know, 
A baker once, who kneaded his own dough ; 
Who, when in life he first began to start. 
Was not too proud to drive his own bread-cart : 
He was industrious, understood his trade. 
And, by degrees, a little money made ; 
And when, "in time, he a small fortune earn'd. 
Dough, trough, and shop, and bread-cart, all were 
spurn'd ; 



23 

On Wall-street he was early seen, and late, 

In town-lots lie'd begun to speculate : 

He sold and bought, and sold agam and bought. 

The city grew, lots eagerly were sought ; 

Until, at length, things got to such a pitch, 

One fine day dawns, and Smith's immensely rich. 

And having now made quite enough to dash on, 

He thinks he'll enter in the world of fashion. 

As the first step, he builds his house up town, 

And furnishes it, as already shown ; 

And, as th' aristocratic feeling w^arms, 

He steps down street to buy a coat of arms. 

The Herald — for so well this thing does pay. 

We have a herald's office on Broadway — 

The Herald asks him, with a solemn phiz. 

Which fam'ly of the myriad Smiths is his. 

His father was a shoemaker, he knows — 

No farther back his genealogy goes. 

And therefore, as his questioner knew well. 

He answers that he can't exactly tell ; 

But other people have them, and he'll pay 

As much for one as they can, any day. 

The Herald then — '' Dear sir, your shield shall be 

Made from parts of the prettiest two or three, 



24 

That's well enough, and by the way of crest, 

We'll take the one that suits your fancy best." 

Now well equipp'd with ev'rything he needs. 

To give a splendid ball he next proceeds, 

And for the company he sends for Browne, 

The sexton of a fancy church up town, 

Who always takes around the invitations 

To the balls of persons in the " highest stations,' 

And by a sequitur which I can't see. 

Introduces blackguards in society. 

In France nobility has gone so far 

For nouveaux riches, snobs from America, 

As to invite guests to the nabob's ball. 

With this proviso, they invited all, 

Regarding him as a restaurateur, 

Who furnish'd them with music and good cheer ; 

And did it gratis, too, and cheerfully, 

Provided he fed aristocracy. 

But New-York high-life justly this reverses, 

And bends before its man of pews and hearses. 

He gives to Smith the names from his own list, 

And the next day is with the cards dismiss'd : 

Beau-monde turns up its nose awhile, for show. 

But finally concludes that it will go. 



25 

The host is vulgar — but he entertains ; 
Uneducated — ^but a man of means ; 
A low upstart, whose talisman's his purse — 
My friend, most of them are as bad, or worse. 
Besides, w^e know society's benign 
To those who feed it well, and keep good wine : — 
Thenceforward Smith holds up his head 'mong men, 
And takes his place amid the upper-ten. 
When Smith on Fortune's wave began to ride, 
Tompkins his trade as a poor tailor plied : 
But he, too, wishes in the world to rise. 
And, as he works, learns to economize. 
He fits quite well, is moderate in charges. 
And, with his business, he his shop enlarges, 
Expanding then in views and fortune both, 
He turns a merchant, and he deals in cloth. 
He imports largely, has "a run of luck," 
And with th' aristocratic feeling's struck. 
The first step in his upward path, of course, 
Is a fine house, and he builds one perforce ; 
But why repeat — like Smith, he calls in Browne, 
And fetes the fashionable part of town. 
On Tompkins' house new days begin to dawn. 
His hissing goose is, now, a splendid swan. 

3 



26 

Although Smith, who preceded him some years, 
Has for society's stabihty great fears ; 
Indeed, Smith's family all grow quite savage 
At his success, and make hints about cabbage, 
While proud Miss Smith, contemptuously, says 
She does despise those upstart Tompkinses. 



Poor human nature — if these folks must rise, 
Why let them, 'tis not they that we despise. 
Let them have Croesus' wealth, or richer be, 
We lose not our respectability. 
But, once admitted to the place they sought. 
Let them remember their position's bought ; 
Let them avoid all airs, and all pretension. 
Nor always act as if in condescension, 
And above all, when others, good as they. 
Rise from a station they held yesterday. 
Let them not talk as if they could look, far. 
Beyond their own plebeian ancestor. 
I'll tell to them a truth the whole world ow^ns, 
"Ye dwellers in glass houses, don't throw stones." 
No, act with dignity in your new place, 
Nor think your origin is a disgrace ; 



27 

Try not to hide, nor drag it into view, 

Let it alone, the world will do so too -; 

Seeking to hide it is a vulgar shame. 

To show't a false pride equally to blame. 

No — keep the even tenor of your way, 

Of others' origin have naught to say ; 

Once ris'n, 'tis contemptible and mean 

To sneer at that which you yourselves have been. 

You rose through wealth, and let not a purse-pride. 

Make others speak of things you'd gladly hide. 



It is our country's honor, and its boast, 
That each man may attain to any post. 
Man's mind is free to judge of any fact, 
And, as he judges, he is free to act. 
Religion, government, whate'er it be, 
'Tis still the same, man's mind is always free ; 
The people's holy voice decides on all. 
Acclaims the statesman, or it dooms his fall ; 
And each of those who with his voice's might, 
Proclaims his verdict with a freeman's right. 
No matter if the humblest of the throng, 
Who honor honesty, or punish wrong, 



28 

Feels, as he's standing there unknown to Fame, 
With nothing his except a freeman's name, 
With nothing there to raise him 'hove his kind, 
Except the stern will, and the pow'rful mind, 
With not one friend, by place or riches strong, 
With but himself to help himself along, 
With conscious pride, feels that great truth sublime, 
That he may win a name to last through time ; 
That want of birth and wealth gives naught to fear, 
Where high or low may run the same career ; 
And he, if he have mind and honesty, 
The strong resolve, and firm integrity, 
May, step by step, rise up and take his place 
Among the highest, loftiest of his race ; 
May win that post, the proudest man can fill, 
The freemen's ruler, by the freemen's will. 
Yes, this is so ; but, answer me, how oft 
Does worthiest merit bear a man aloft ? 
How many men, of intellect and worth. 
Are crush'd and kept back, not by want of birth, 
But by the want of wealth? — that cursed God 
That rules our nation with a tyrant's rod. 
While others, who have not one claim to be 
Rais'd from their birth-right of obscurity, 



29 

Attain that place which those may vainly crave, 
Carried aloft on Fortune's golden wave. 
Most sad avowal, yet alas too true, 
Gold is all pow'rful — gold can all things do. 

Yes, glorious gold, 't is thus each ^ ay we see 
Goodness and truth subservient to thee. 
Thou mighty God, near thee all others pale, 
Thy power alone it is can never fail. 
We bend to thee with superstitious awe, 
Anfl humbly greet thy presence from afar. 
Thrice pow'rful Deity, we worship thee 
Supreme, oh most august Divinity. 
Thee ever honor, to thee give give all praise, 
And to thy service consecrate our days. 
Thou great, benign, serene Omnipotence, 
Eagles, half eagles, dollars, dimes and cents. 
And still dread awe our throbbing bosom fills, 
As we contemplate thee reduced to mills. 

How few of those who seek wealth do we see 
Who make no sacrifice of honesty ; 
How very few of those who wealth inherit 
Are ever men of any worth or merit. 



30 

The heir, what is he mostly in our day ? 

Weak debauchee, or profligate roue ; 

His mind is weak and vulgar as his taste, 

His moral sense is blunted or debased : 

He has the vices, but is lacking quite 

The refinement of th' eifem'nate Sybarite. 

While those who lack wealth, truth most melancholy, 

With these vie in extravagance and folly ; 

Owing their house-rent, and yet giving balls, 

Their butcher, and yet hiring op'ra stalls ; 

Preying on him who trusts them, or who lends, 

Cheating their tradesmen, and defrauding friends. 

Their whole life is a fraud, and a deceit, 

Their creed rascality, their aim to cheat ; 

Steal a few half-dimes, and the world cries, shame. 

Let it be thousands, and you get no blame ; 

That is, don't rob a man, that's deadly sin, 

And vulgar too — but " make it out of him :" 

Go cheat the government, but let it be 

A good round sum, and do it legally ; 

Then revel on the proceeds of your fraud. 

Fear nothing, feast men, and they'll all applaud ; 

Defraud an orphan, on your ill-got gains 

Give balls, in entertainments spare no pains ; 



31 

Go sport you lord-like, build a princely house, 

And give a periodical carouse : 

And then 't is not the theft that's wrong, you'll see, 

But going to the penitentiary. 

Men hold the doctrine Spartan boys were taught, 

To steal's no sin, but only to be caught. 

Riches is what by all is most desir'd, 

And who has most of it is most admired. 



Who then e'er made th' assertion weak and rash. 

And foolish, he "who steals my purse steals trash !" 

That great man whom I honor and admire, 

lago, but 'twas when he did desire 

To heal the aching pang which gave unrest. 

To black Othello's jealous swarthy breast. ] 

'"Twas nonsense, and he thus did truth abuse, 

Just as good men will often fiction [use 

To heal some racking pang, and give relief. 

Where passion's cur'd by things beyond belief. 

But when he spoke words wise and full of truth 

To Roderigo his friend, ardent youth, 

He said, young man, these words of wisdom nurse, 

Above all things, '-put money in thy purse." 



32 



Yes, lose all honor and all virtue, be 

Guilty of ev'ry crime and infamy, 

Do each base deed, from which the sicken'd soul 

Shrinks back appall'd ; admit not the control 

Of e'en one decent feeling, if you've gold, 

Stand safe amid your treasures, and be bold. 

Your vice, a dazzhng veil is hid behind, 

The world to all except your gold is blind. 

It is the magic that can all bewitch, 

You're sure to be respectable if rich. 



THE end. 



6, '^"'■' 1 



